The Nemisin Star (30 page)

“Are you
suggesting you could be trapped there?”

“No, only that
time becomes irrelevant.”

“Was it like
that before?”

“Before I had
my host prepared and the transfer was instant. I did not linger in
the Realms as I intend to now.”

“Then we must
have a host ready.”

Torrullin was
grim. “I need the lapse of time. I cannot simply jump form. And you
speak of a newborn babe, innocent and unsuspecting. Where will you
find such an orphan and then have it ready on the day? Or will you
steal someone’s child - knowing in advance the exact moment of my
death - and will you then bring it to the battlefield? Not only
will synchronisation cause you problems, but the guilt and
heartache will plague you the rest of your days.”

Tristamil did
not say anything, but he paled.

Torrullin went
on without mercy. “For my previous incarnations I chose vessels I
knew to be abandoned or close to death. They would have died and I
admit today I sometimes hoped they would, but every time my
infusion pulled them through. For thirty-four years they were then
on their own. They became part of me, of course, for you cannot
live in another’s skin without influence transferring, and that
guilt is ever hard to live with. I shall not do so again.”

“Except
Rayne,” Tristamil murmured.

“Yes, Rayne
was different. He suspected my presence and in studying sorcery he
brought us together from the beginning. Rayne is me and I him, even
now. Tris, I would negate that by choosing what you believe to be
an answer. Accept that you are answer enough.”

“How do you
return without a host?”

“I cannot
explain it, son, but trust that Lian was thorough.”

Tristamil
pondered. “I seek to understand.”

“There is no
understanding this.”

“You say you
are a true immortal, you cannot die; that is a paradox. Here we sit
discussing the interring of your body, the mourning and …”

“There will be
no body. Either I take this form into the Realms and return as I am
now, or the final confrontation is such that nothing remains of my
physical self.”

Tristamil
cried out.

“Son, I cannot
kill this body. I have to utterly destroy myself in order to
leave.”

“No!”

Torrullin
leaned forward and gripped Tristamil’s wrist. “Margus will be doing
this alone also. Either he will swerve the invisible world until he
can reach out to someone, or he will need to plan his death with a
host prepared. He was fortunate the first time in that he used the
Valleur awareness in the womb to his advantage; if you and Tymall
had already been born the situation would be different today.

“I shall not
permit him to usurp an innocent and create another Tymall, and I
cannot allow him to swerve out there learning new tricks to unleash
on an unsuspecting universe. If it means I need to destroy all
trace of this living matter to achieve that, then thus it will be.
I love you and I know I am hurting you more now than I ever did as
a child in not knowing you, but it is also because of that love
that this must be so. Do you understand?”

“Yes. I don’t
want to understand, though.” Tristamil watched his father’s face.
Torrullin had lost weight due to the long weeks of world hopping
and it was recently compounded by lack of sleep and intermittent
meals; the skin over his cheeks was tight and paler than usual. Of
course, that also signified inner tension. His eyes were as alive
as ever, a clear grey. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Tell me what
to do.”

Torrullin
sighed. “I need you to be there, that is all.”

“That is not
enough, not for me. Tell me how you can return so I may prepare the
way.”

Torrullin
closed his eyes. “You cannot do that. I am seven times born
already.”

“Explain
that.”

Torrullin
opened his eyes. Silvery eyes. “The seventh birth heralds true
deathlessness. To go beyond now is harder than ever, for my body
roots me in this reality. Immortality, in a sense, now holds me.
But I am also a Walker, and that means I am permitted beyond into
the Realms despite deathlessness. I may go through a doorway and
wander beyond, but Margus unfortunately would not follow. He cannot
find the doorway from this side; he must die to do so and therefore
I need ‘die’ also. We need to leave together.”

Tristamil
nodded and waited.

“Margus
learned a nuance or two about rebirth in the etheric I never had
opportunity to. He has the power to separate into form once he
returns, which no adepts have been able to achieve, according to
Lian. He would find a host, return, and later he would again be his
original self, with a right-hand apprentice. It cannot be.”

“What about
you?”

“In Rayne I am
Torrullin, the original, down to scars and childhood aches. Somehow
I found the means to bring myself through the veils of decay and
time. I assume I
am
able to find a host and separate, as
Margus is able to, but I find the thought repugnant.”

Tristamil
closed his eyes. “Thus a babe
would
aid you?”

“I do not want
to return in that manner.”

“Would it
help?” Tristamil was insistent.

Torrullin
studied his son, seeing there his own stubbornness. “Not for a
straight rebirth, but if I find that I now possess the curse of
separation, then yes.”

“Why the
qualification?”

“I have used
up my rebirths. By rights I should not leave here in the manner I
plan.”

Tristamil was
horrified. “How dare you take this road?”

“I must.”

“How do you
return?”

“There is a
way, but I am not permitted to reveal it to anyone.”

Tristamil bit
back an oath. “How long?”

Torrullin
looked away. “I have no idea.”

“Goddess!”

Torrullin
jerked back and his eyes blazed. “You are not to find a host, do
you understand me?”

“I am not
making that promise.”

“I shall not
use him, this I swear to you. No innocent will become me, not this
dual mixed-up creature I am, and no innocent will become my
apprentice either.”

“What if he
isn’t innocent?”

“All children
are innocent!”

“Tymall
wasn’t.”

Torrullin drew
a sharp breath. “Tymall is different.”

“Therefore the
precedent exists. I refuse to wait a thousand years.”

“I shall have
your word!”

“I will not
give it.” Tristamil was emphatic.

“I thought you
wanted to help.”

“Exactly.”

Torrullin
understood, clearly, what Tristamil would attempt.

A Valleur babe
in the womb possessed an awareness that could be prepared to accept
a usurper. Innocence negated before birth.

Who would he
ask to carry a child in anticipation? Who would his son sleep with,
giving no thought to his own suffering, for this to come to pass?
Torrullin’s lips tightened, for he knew Tristamil set himself up
for a world of pain, not least of which would be the betrayal of
his love for Skye, and knew also he would not now listen to reason.
Tristamil would not give his word and he could not force it from
him. Word given under duress could be ignored.

The day of
confrontation needed to be hastened forward without delay.
Tristamil was not to have the luxury of time to put his
half-perceived plan into action.

“Father, I
cannot sit idly by.”

“I know, thus
we shall disagree at this point, and I must hope I am able to
change your mind.”

Tristamil’s
shoulders slumped. “We shall talk more.”

“You are not
to tell anyone about this. I shall do so, when ready.”

Tristamil, in
the act of dragging his pack closer, stilled. “As you wish.”

“And we shall
not speak of Cèlaver to anyone. I gave Ophuls my word.”

Tristamil
nodded and Torrullin reached out to draw the streaked head to him,
kissing his son on the side of his head, and released him, tousling
his hair affectionately.

Tristamil hid
his face, but his hand trembled on his pack.

Do you
recognise that fire is a traitor to stealth?

~ Anonymous

Lifesource
Temple

C
at
paced the chamber and Skye was forced to watch her agitation, for
it was, point of fact, better than dealing with her own
thoughts.

Mitrill and
Lowen retired to a corner murmuring, while Quilla was patient.

“Rude!” Cat
muttered. “Unfeeling, selfish, rude.”

Skye said
nothing and her gaze strayed to the arched entrance. Torrullin, she
mused, was engaged in some new devilry and his son was unhappy
about it. Had Tristamil sought to remove himself from her presence?
She was harsh with him before they left for Cèlaver, she did not
say goodbye when something could have gone horribly wrong and she
might never have … she drew breath and stilled her thoughts.

Tristamil
stood in the arch watching her.

She rose,
smiled and, to her everlasting relief, he returned it. Yet she knew
immediately there was a new reticence in him. Was he punishing her?
Withdrawing? Or was it something else? She hurtled forward, clung
to him, and his arms tightened around her. Whatever it was, he
loved her, and that mattered most.

Torrullin
passed by without looking their way and Cat finally came to rest.
He gave her a lopsided smile, hesitated, and kissed her cheek.
“Cat. I think you are about to dismantle the Temple brick by
brick.”

She grinned.
“You have no idea.”

“A little
longer, all right?” He looked at her from under lowered lashes.

A feeling of
disquiet overcame her and her smile grew strained. “What are you up
to?”

“It will be
hectic out there soon, Cat. I simply want you safe here.”

She was about
to argue, but noticed Quilla approach with purpose and chose to
defer the outburst. “You are not off the hook, buddy.”

“Good,” he
murmured. “Quilla, I see you are a hen among …”

“No,
Enchanter, you will not insult me. This is your devising.”

“Good to see
you, old friend. I feel as if years have passed.”

“Ah, and did
they?”

“Not this
time, no,” said Torrullin.

“Difficult
mission?”

“Not
especially, although it turned out complicated. We will not speak
of it. I gave my word to someone.”

Quilla’s
cherubic face filled with disappointment. “Pity.”

Torrullin
laughed. “I knew you would react this way; I thought it even as I
gave my word.” He spied Lowen in the corner and stepped around the
birdman holding his arms out. “Lowen!” Would she trust him enough
to accept a cuddle offered in this manner? A voice in the back of
his mind whispered something about innocence trampled.

She
unreservedly rushed into them. “We missed you, Torrullin.”

Laughing, he
jiggled her, and let go. He glanced at Mitrill. “I see you are all
grown up, young lady. The last time I saw you, you barely reached
my hip.”

Mitrill
smiled, golden of hair, eyes, skin and voice. “My Lord, we are glad
to have you among us again. Quilla was concerned.”

The birdman
cleared his throat noisily. “I was not!”

Tristamil and
Skye closed in and Skye embraced her godfather. “We were
worried.”

He kissed her
forehead and glanced at his son to find him looking at Mitrill
speculatively. Setting Skye aside, he gestured Tristamil closer.
“Son, this is Mitrill, Rillinon’s daughter.”

Tristamil
quirked a smile. “I have not seen you in the city; isn’t that
strange?” He held his hand out for the formal Valleur clasp. “Well
met, Mitrill.”

She looked at
his hand and smiled quizzically, as if asking whether he actually
knew what he was doing.

Torrullin
shivered.

She reached
for Tristamil’s hand.

Abruptly
Torrullin understood and made to intervene and then it was, quite
simply, too late. Fate moved stealthily into the chamber.

They touched
arms. Tristamil’s arm was covered, but Mitrill’s was bare, and
there, skin-to-skin, fingers on forearm, trebac ignited.
Unmistakeable. Blue and bright.

The
subjugation of Mitrill’s kinfire was now years old and it have been
nullified by Tristamil’s autonomy and her own. It was instituted to
guard against the twins as they grew up, and had not since been
altered. Or kin needed to recognise each other now - a matter of
fate. Whatever it was, trebac was unmistakably present.

Torrullin
hissed as both retreated from the contact as if burned.

Quilla
scratched his feathery head.

Quiet stole
over Mitrill and she took Tristamil’s hand firmly in her own and
closed her other hand over that. Kinfire sizzled and spat. She
looked up at him. “We are kin.”

Tristamil
stared at his trapped fingers, fascinated by the blue fire. He
shifted to his father, pulling free, breathing with difficulty.
“What is the meaning of this?”

“Quilla, clear
the room.”

The birdman
did as bid, shooing Cat, Skye, and Lowen out without apology, and
sealed them out. He stood there, inside, remaining unobtrusive.

“Father?”
Tristamil demanded.

“My Lord?”
Mitrill questioned, by far the calmer.

Torrullin
pinched the bridge of his nose and mentally straightened. “Mitrill,
I have kept you at a distance deliberately since that day we met in
the city. You did not realise it, but I saw trebac spark between us
when I lifted you onto my lap. This will be hard for you and I
think I should send for your father before we speak further.”

“I would like
to hear it from you.”

“Yes, speak
plainly,” Tristamil muttered. “How can you keep a secret like
this?”

Torrullin
ignored that.